


A Soft Place to Fall

by theleafpile



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Season 1, Sharing a Bed, Sleep Deprivation, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 11:12:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11416731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleafpile/pseuds/theleafpile
Summary: Lucifer never had a problem sleeping before.





	A Soft Place to Fall

The first time it happened, he had fallen asleep by accident. 

Well, how could he help it, really, when stakeouts took up so much more of his time than he would have liked. And the vending machine at the precinct had been out of Cool Ranch puffs for the last four days, which meant he had nothing to snack on. And – more annoyingly – he was behaving himself around the detective, because he didn’t want to screw up whatever was going on between them.

Because maybe he actually liked the bits about catching bad guys.

And because he maybe actually liked hanging out with her, as a person. As a human being. 

Which, you know, there were an awful lot of human beings in the L.A. area at that he had “hung out” with, but not like her. Not as…friends.

The memory of it jostled him out of his light slumber, resting against the door frame on the passenger side of Chloe’s car. The memory of after Father Frank died, when he still had blood on his hands and caked in the beds of his fingernails, when she came over and told him that maybe he needed a friend, and maybe that was her.

The wakefulness he achieved from the startling didn’t last long. A glance at the detective told him she still had her eyes stuck on the building on the corner of the street, a cup of lukewarm coffee held to her lips as though she had forgotten to set it in her lap after taking a sip.

He watched the building for some time – at least, it felt that way to him – but during the night he stretched out his long legs and leaned back, and it was all over then.

Lucifer was never one to dream. On the rare occasions it did happen, he wished he hadn’t.

When he dreamed of a time before the Fall, by the evening his flat was trashed and he was passed out or writhing on the floor, alone. Maze would pick him up, shove him into bed, and lock the balcony doors before she left.

When he dreamed of Hell, by that evening, Lux would be in full swing, Maze would be staring at him (adoringly, he knew) from behind the bar, and he would sing, sing like he had never been without a piano, like he existed only in that moment and for that one purpose.

(He justified the feeling by telling himself that purpose could be found from within, and did not have to be given to him by another.)

(He did not tell himself that he had not missed having a purpose, because Lucifer Morningstar refused to lie.)

 

Lucifer’s breath fogged the glass. He had been silent for some time, not pecking questions at her, quips about what they could do to fill the time – which he hadn’t been, not so much lately, anyway – or just fully complaining about the situation he found himself in on a Saturday night, of all nights.

Chloe allowed herself a quick look at her partner. His mouth rested open, and his eyes had floated shut. She caught a laugh in her throat, but the surprise faded quickly. Of course Lucifer would fall asleep during a stakeout. Hell, she had, once or twice, before she got used to the hours and the ache in her backside over years on the force. Besides, this was her job, not his, if she wanted to bring motivation into it.

She lingered her gaze a few moments longer. At some point in the night he had removed his suit jacket, which lay across his lap like a tame black cat, his hands folded over it protectively. The lines and angles of his face relaxed. She had never seen him so unguarded.

Though he had been surprising her, lately – granted, he always surprised her, with his hatred for concern over his own safety, his threatening posture toward suspects, his sheer lack of propriety. But now he was looking at her, longer, and not just in that way, but like she was a person and he was shocked by that, somehow.

 

Lucifer did not dream of the Fall. Something in him protected him from that, whatever small bit of angelic grace he still retained, and for that he was thankful. He had enough reminders of that when awake. 

He did not remember what he was dreaming about before the darkness took hold, and he was stuck and he was falling, unable to move, unable to speak. 

Only the stomach-turning sensation of falling, of hitting the ground.

Lucifer jerked awake, lurching forward, startling Chloe. She hadn’t been holding the coffee cup, thankfully, otherwise they’d be covered in the cold liquid. 

“Lucifer,” she hissed, sparing a look toward the building. She had just been about ready to call it a night, for no activity had taken place in the abandoned area for the last several hours.

He took in several panicked gasps, and when his eyes met hers they were wide – and, if Chloe had to guess – frightened.

Lucifer grabbed his jacket and fumbled out the car door, throwing it on as he strode into the darkness, alone.

Chloe watched him walk away, then called the station, letting them know she was ending the stakeout. 

 

\---

 

The second time it happened Lucifer hadn’t slept in 54 hours.

The first 24 hours passed without incident. It certainly wasn’t unusual – depending on business at Lux, whatever guests he entertained overnight, and his work with the detective – pulling all-nighters was old hat.

During the last 12 hours he found himself drifting off in conversations, and he tripped down the Italian marble in his flat. Thankfully, no one had been around to hear the embarrassing yelp that escaped his lips.

Caffeine powered him through the last hour and a half, along with sheer force of will. He stopped by the local java bean to get Chloe’s order that morning, and his twelfth cup, which he drank without bothering for it to cool, gathering a collection of gasps from the baristas behind the counter. No matter, though. Wasn't as though he could be burned by it.

Chloe took her coffee without a look up from the paperwork on her desk, while he hovered over her shoulder, buzzing like a hive of exceptionally well-dressed bees.

It was a little disconcerting.

“You got an elsewhere to be?” she asked, as he leaned over to more carefully inspect a photograph of a crime scene of a case in which she was finishing typing the notes. 

“Nope,” he said, popping the words off his lips, straightening his spine.

“Could you?”

“What?” he asked, innocently.

She sighed. “Here,” she said, handing him a stack of case files. “Sit,” she pointed at the chair, then the stack. “Organize.”

“Organize?” he whined, plopping into the chair next to her desk, holding the files between his hands like used tissue.

“Yep,” she told him, snapping a hand atop the files to have him set them down on the desk. “You can put them in order so I don’t have to search my way through the notes to finish my reports.”

He was asleep within minutes.

Chloe shook her head, letting him sleep. His head was tilted toward her but his chin had dropped to his chest. It wasn’t long before short sounds shuffled out of his mouth. Chloe held her finger to her lips as Dan approached, gesturing to Lucifer. Dan tapped the file against his palm and smirked, rolling his eyes in disbelief, returning to his desk.

Lucifer had barely sailed off with Morpheus when the nauseating sensation returned, the dragging of gravity from the center of his being, the short fall back into the chair as if he had been levitating, which he knew was ridiculous.

It sure felt like it, though.

When he woke, Lucifer bolted upright, staggering forward several steps before hitting the file cabinet off the wall, turning at the sudden bang of metal and blinking rapidly. Chloe had stood, her hand poised over her gun reflexively. He rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes then stormed out, kicking the chair in the process, extricating himself from it as he left.

It toppled onto the floor with a thud. 

Chloe watched Lucifer climb the stairs, the line of his shoulders rigid, his back stiff. 

 

\---

 

It happened again. And again. 

And again.

Lucifer paced the length of his flat, going out onto the balcony and back into the bar, a cigarette long since burned out between his fingers. The cool night air encircled his body, clad only in pajama pants, but the cold had been helping. He wasn’t going to sleep again. Not if he could help it.

Upon waking earlier that evening he nearly leapt off the balcony, if only to take the sensation back under his control. He held himself halfway over the railing and bellowed at the city below, the sky above. He stopped when memories of Hell flashed before his eyes, reminding him exactly what he would be going back to.

Whatever was happening to him now – well. Whoever had come up with it knew exactly how to torture the Devil. His mind circled the usual suspects, trying to figure out who possessed the power to make him fall, over and over.

It circled again and again, unable to concentrate.

The lack of sleep had drained him, and the last several nights he had spent alone, chain smoking and pacing and trying not to stop moving. Chloe had called several times earlier that day, but he ignored the constant vibrato of the phone atop his piano. 

Irritably, he brought the cigarette back to his lips, grimacing when he inhaled. He stubbed it out on the ashtray on the piano, walking back out onto the balcony.

Chloe stepped out of the elevator, glancing around the room. She spied Lucifer’s figure moving further away from her. Quietly, she walked toward the balcony doors. Lucifer was bent over, resting his head over his folded hands on the railing. 

She wavered on the threshold, studying his figure. The lean muscle and scars she had seen before, and she already knew he was a beautiful man – his skin paled in the surrounding darkness – but this. This was something she hadn’t seen in him before. He had been pretty beat up after Father Frank died, when she watched him walk away, but she had gotten him to smile that night. 

Chloe called him, called his bartender to confirm he was home, but Maze had offered no other clues to his state of mind. The man in front of her was different from the man she saw that awful night. He had been sad, of course. Mostly angry, confused. Chloe was all too familiar with the typical emotions a person goes through when they lose someone to a senseless act of violence.

Lucifer did not look angry or confused now. He looked like a man defeated.

Lucifer sighed, pulling himself upright, pushing against the railing, lifting onto the toes of his bare feet. Chloe lunged forward, calling his name. She'd had too much training not to see such signs in someone. The movement got his attention, and he pushed backward, stumbling a few feet as he launched away from the railing.

Chloe gripped his forearm, dragging him back inside, shoving him onto the couch. “What the hell are you doing?” 

He hit the back of the couch with a huff. “Nothing for you to concern yourself with, detective,” he said coolly, his body settling into the couch before his mind could protest.

“What is going on with you lately?” she asked, inertia carrying her to the center of the room. “I call, I text, nothing." She spun to face him. "You’re supposed to be my partner,” she reminded. He sank further into the couch, his eyelids heavy. “Hey!” she said, snapping her fingers at him and walking back over. He pushed himself upright, shaking his head. 

With a sigh, Chloe sat on the chair opposite. “Talk to me.”

He took in a sharp inhale, briefly widening his eyes and blinking, forcing himself awake. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you." 

“Try me,” she urged.

Lucifer leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, rubbing his face with his hands. “I can’t sleep,” he explained, stilling his hands.

Why had her first reaction been anger? Chloe wondered. 

She knew. It was anger at a display of weakness, those moments she tried so desperately to hide in herself. She had punished him for it. It wasn’t fair. 

Chloe reached out and touched his wrist. He let his hands fall from his face. She kept her fingers still, studying his face. The dark circles under his eyes were closer to the black eyes she’d seen on him before.

“That’s not really the problem,” he said, correcting himself, “I fall asleep all the time.” 

He laughed mirthlessly. Chloe pulled her hand back into her lap. “Fall awake, I mean!” Lucifer abruptly stood, swaying. 

Chloe got up slowly, reaching out to steady him. The jerking awake, how he bolted out of the chair - all reactions to that. “You get that too, huh?” she asked quietly. He looked into her face, not understanding. “Happens to a lot of people,” she explained. “Jerking awake, feeling like you’re hitting the bed. It’s not all that usual – but it’s not unheard of.” She gripped his elbow as he took a step to the side, nearly falling back onto the couch. “You’ve never had that before?”

Lucifer shook his head, peering into her face suspiciously. 

“C’mon,” she urged, pulling him out of the living room and up the steps to his bedroom. He dropped onto the bed, wincing. “Think you can sleep now?”

“That’s not the issue,” he repeated, looking around the room as though seeing it for the first time.

Chloe held her hands on her hips. His eyes moved up her body, lingering on her waist, her breasts, the shine of the small necklace against her collarbone.

“Lucifer,” she warned. He brought his eyes to hers. She took in a deep breath. “You need to sleep.”

He shook his head, but the pressure of the bed beneath him was already urging him to rest. “Can’t.”

“Sure you can,” she urged softly, as she might her daughter, taking a step forward. “You’re half-asleep already. Just try.”

“You don’t understand. I can’t,” he pleaded, trying to push himself up off the bed. Chloe pushed him back down. Rage begun to build in the hard lines of his body. He wasn’t one to succumb to outside influence, and certainly was not used to someone questioning his decisions. 

“What would help?” she asked quietly. His anger was burned itself out, a flame with no oxygen. He slumped forward and she sat next to him, and after a hesitant moment, ran her hand over his back. “Do you think –” she started, returning her hand to her lap. “Do you think it would help if I stayed?”

He looked into her face accusingly. “I’m not afraid.” 

“Never said you were.” He didn’t refuse, though. She patted the bed and with a roll of his eyes, he pushed himself to lay down. She remained seated. “Sleep.”

 

\---

 

That evening, Lucifer dreamed of the Fall. 

He dreamed of a hollow space inside him, of burning, of emptiness around and nothingness below.

He awoke with a start, but not the swift jerk he had come to expect. “Chloe,” he breathed, sitting upright, the dark sheets twisted around his body. He gripped them tightly, trying to shove them away – the detective was nowhere in sight, and his skin was itching, covered in a light sheen of sweat, and there was only darkness surrounding him, the sound of blood rushing in his ears, and the damn sheets – 

Chloe appeared, padding in quietly from the other room, a glass of water in her hand. She set it on the bedside table and kneeled on the bed, stilling Lucifer’s hands. 

“You okay?” she asked, looking into his now blood-shot eyes, the red emphasized by the purpling blackness below.

“No,” he forced out, tugging his hands from hers and ripping the sheet off his lower body. He stood, striding into the living room, throwing a hand out for balance against the piano before turning into the bar, pouring himself a drink, then another.

Chloe followed him into the room, a bit bleary eyed herself. Dan had their daughter that weekend, and she should really be at home, in bed, at four in the morning, not attempting to tame whatever beast Lucifer was wrestling with.

“Lucifer,” she said, shaking her head. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He poured the drink down his throat and another into the glass. She reached over the bar, covering his hand with her own. 

“I fall,” he told her, looking at her hand.

“It’s just the body’s reaction to falling asleep, sometimes. Like a muscle twitch.”

He smiled, a kind of grimace. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Not if you don’t talk to me.” She took the glass from his hand, setting it on the piano behind her. 

He leaned over the counter, elbows locked, hanging his head. “Don’t,” he asked. “Just go.”

“I’m just trying –”

“Please,” he softly interrupted, not lifting his head. “Go.”

He listened as the elevator descended before he fell, exhausted, to the floor. The sleep that overtook him then was dreamless.

 

A week passed. Chloe texted him for the first few days, checking in, but her texts went unanswered, and she resigned herself to letting Lucifer work it out on his own – or, hopefully, with his therapist.

Not that therapy seemed to help convince him he wasn’t actually the Devil.

Chloe tucked Trixie in, easing herself out of the bed after her child fell asleep, closing the door gently behind her. She started up the stairs already changed and exhausted from the weight of the day, rolling her shoulders back and down as she ascended. A soft knock at the door had her pausing mid-step, unsure if what she heard was correct.

She listened. Another gentle knock. 

Chloe returned downstairs, glancing out the curtains on the door to see Lucifer – or what she assumed was her partner, for his back was turned to the door and he was already walking away.

She pulled the door open and called his name. He paused, smoothing down the front of his suit jacket as he turned. He looked worse, if that were possible, though he now he was better dressed.

“I apologize,” he said, glancing over her gray sweatpants and night shirt. “I’ll go,” he added, as an afterthought.

“I’m shocked you could even drive here,” she countered, gesturing for him to come inside. He complied, offering her a small smile as he passed.

She shut the door behind them and stood expectantly. He took in the room, slowly turning toward her. 

“I’m not crazy,” he explained, his voice lowering upon seeing the child’s closed bedroom door. “I have – I have a fear of falling.”

“You live in a penthouse.”

“It’s not a fear of heights, detective,” he huffed, then lowered his voice and eyes once more. She stepped closer. “Something – happened to me. A long time ago.”

Chloe hesitated. Lucifer still hadn’t lifted his gaze. She felt herself soften at her edges, letting her guard down. This wasn’t the Lucifer she knew before her, playboy club owner with Daddy issues. No, this was the man she had only glimpsed, when he spun and gripped her wrist tightly, when he asked her not to pry into his past.

Yet here he was, admitting he was afraid.

Don’t let your fear of weakness hurt someone else, she reminded herself. She took in a deep breath. “Come upstairs.”

His eyes met hers, but he remained silent.

“Can I trust you?” she asked.

“Detective,” he huffed, lifting a weary hand to his chest in indignation. “You wound me.”

She shook her head and slipped her hand into his, leading him up the stairs.

 

\---

 

“So this is where the magic happens,” Lucifer teased, waiting at the threshold of the door to her bedroom, watching her walk in.

“Shut up,” she whispered, but it was without conviction. She sat on the bed, pulling in a knee. Lucifer wavered.

“Do you trust me?” he asked quietly, repeating her question from below.

Chloe nodded, slowly, and Lucifer walked in the room, pulling off his jacket, setting it on a nearby chair. Chloe double checked her alarm and pulled the corner of the covers back, sitting, watching.

Lucifer lifted his hands to the top button of his silvery shirt, meeting her eyes. She nodded lightly, and he fumbled with the button, his fingers having lost their fine motor skills some time ago. It had taken him several minutes just to put the damn thing on, and when he had, he realized he had misbuttoned and needed to redo it. He had nearly given up at the idea of coming over, at that point.

Something inside him urged him to try again.

After a moment, Chloe stood and began to undo the buttons herself. Lucifer leaned against a set of dressers, and helped her tug the shirt from his waistband.

“This is horribly romantic,” Chloe disapproved as the shirt slid off his shoulders, but there was a laugh behind her voice. 

Lucifer smiled for the first time in days. “I apologize, detective, but I don’t think I’d be of much use to you, in my current state.”

She stepped back, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, considering. “You’re probably right,” she agreed. He snorted a light laugh, and she lead him around to the other side of the bed, sitting him down and walking to back around herself. “Shoes, socks, trousers,” she told his back. “Off.”

He began loosening his belt. “Had I known you were this bossy in bed –”

“Don’t start,” she warned, sliding under the covers. He cut the quips, bending to remove his shoes and socks, lifting slightly off the bed to remove his trousers. Chloe discreetly watched, her head on a pillow. His scars shone pale against his back in the low light, and she tried to tear her eyes away, but the cop in her was trying to figure out what kind of weapon could cause such damage. 

And who could use such a thing on Lucifer.

And why.

A fear of falling didn’t seem that big of a deal, now.

She reached over and lowered the corner of the blanket for him, which he crawled under without a fuss, lying to face her.

She reached behind her, clicking off the lamp, allowing the ambient light from the street below settle around the room, her eyes adjusting.

Lucifer was gazing at her. 

“Why are you afraid of falling?” she asked him quietly, adjusting her head on the pillow. She watched him consider the question, and hoped that whatever came from him next was the truth.

He remained silent.

“I’m scared of falling, too,” she admitted. “I could tell you, it’s because falling hurts, like when I hit the side of a slide falling off the monkey bars when I was a kid. Lost my breath.”

She took in a deep breath. He was listening.

“It’s really because – because you lose control. Like there’s no getting out of the situation you’ve just found yourself in. There’s only one end, and you can’t control how to get there. You just have to go through it and hope for a soft place to fall.”

He nodded, bringing his hand up to hold the pillow. This certainly was odd, in bed with a woman, and wanting only to hear what’s on her mind, to have her listen to him, too. 

“I never had the fear until a few years ago," he explained. "Until I realized that, if something were to happen, I wouldn’t be able to catch myself. That – I’d never be able –” his voice dropped away.

Chloe shifted closer, bending a knee between them. “Does this have something to do with the wings?”

The way he looked at her – with hope – made her heart weigh heavily in her chest. 

But he was already fading, drifting. She raised her hand, her fingertips brushing over his ring. He turned his wrist, taking her hand. A word of thanks lingered on his lips, but he had already fallen asleep.

 

\---

 

He slept through the night. And through Chloe’s alarm, and her offer of breakfast, and her and Trixie leaving to get the child to school. 

When he awoke, it was to flames. He had slept until the Sun sat low on the horizon, flooding the room with orange light. Lucifer snapped upright, throwing a hand on the wall. It was only sunlight, filtered through 93 million miles in space and L.A.’s ever-present smog. 

Chloe eased the door open as Lucifer was hurriedly zipping up his trousers. “Feeling better?” she asked.

“Much,” he replied coolly, not looking at her. 

She shut the door behind her, and he sat on the bed, tugging on his socks. “Don’t do that,” she said. He stilled his hands. “I’ve never been really good at letting people in, either,” she said quietly. “So – don’t. Please.”

He rested back on the bed while she wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her shoulders absently.

They stayed like that, lost in thought, until Lucifer got up and made his way past her, throwing on his shirt. She stepped out of the way as he moved forward, toward the doorway behind her. 

He lingered beside her, stilling his hands as he buttoned the shirt, the jacket folded over his arm.

She did not meet his eyes. 

He nodded, and stepped past her. Her eyes fell on the unmade bed, and she inhaled the ghost of Lucifer’s cologne. She listened as the front door shut softly behind him.

For the first time, Chloe wished for wings.


End file.
